


The Duke's Dilemma

by QueenoftheProcrastination



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: (I mean it this time), 404 Error Kylo Ren Not Found, Alternate Universe - Regency, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Armitage Hux as his usual weasel self, Bazine Netal - Freeform, Ben Solo Duke of Alderaan and Marquis of Nabeau, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Jane Austin themes, Minor Ben Solo x Bazine Netal, Miss Aurelia Nema of Crieff, Obi-Wan's age is not canonical, Poe as the dashing captain Dameron, Slow Burn, crackfic, finn - Freeform, humor and smut, imagine him as hot Ewan McGregor, other characters: Rose and Paige Tico, romance novel tropes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:29:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28904166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenoftheProcrastination/pseuds/QueenoftheProcrastination
Summary: The London Season of 1840 has just begun and Ben Solo, Duke of Alderaan and Marquis of Nabeau, is in want of a wife. Preferably one who is handsome, clever, and rich. But when his godfather, Sir. Kenobi, arrives in town with a mysterious ward, one Miss Aurelia Nema, all Ben's clever plans are thrown into chaos.Reylo Regency / Victorian AU Crack!fic with eventual smut
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 17
Kudos: 92





	1. The Mysterious Miss Nema

Ben Solo was in want of a wife. It wasn’t that he was especially lonely--he could easily make a _liaison_ with any _prima_ soprano, ballerina, or charming widow he wished. 

No, Ben was in want of a wife for one reason and one reason alone. 

His mother, her serene highness princess Leia Organa of Nabeau, dowager duchess of Alderaan, desired grandchildren. And she was making his life an absolute hell until she got them. It started five months ago, when his mother had descended from her northern estate to his London townhouse for Christmas and hadn’t departed since. She was constantly hosting old friends and their marriageable daughters for tea or dinner, or introducing him to some smart miss every time she dragged him to the theatre or opera. 

Frankly, Ben was ready to marry the next woman he was introduced to if it meant Leia would go back to her dower estate. And this was precisely why he was standing in a crowded reception room at Buckingham Palace instead of in bed where he belonged after the night he’d had at the club. Armitage had snuck his statuesque _paramour_ Gwendolyn into with half a dozen of her courtesan friends. Cognac flowed while cigar smoke clung to the shadows and the girls did the can-can on the table. 

“Ben, are you paying attention?” His mother hissed from where she stood at his elbow. 

He straightened up and redoubled his efforts of scrutinizing the girls being trotted before him like cattle at a village fair. 

“Miss Bazine Netal, escorted by the right honorable, Viscountess Netal,” one of the heralds boomed. 

A dark haired, cat faced girl floated forward amidst a frothing mountain of skirts. She curtsied before their new queen and prince consort, holding the deepest position well. Victoria eyed the girl with appraisal, before gesturing to one of her ladies forward. The crowd applauded politely as the lady-in-waiting pinned a sprig of hothouse flowers to Miss Netal's sash. 

“A mark of distinction, Ben,” Leia whispered. 

“Mother, please.”

Bazine’s dark eyes flicked over to where they stood very near the dais and Ben worried the young woman had heard them. But his worry passed when Lady and Miss Netal retreated to stand among the crowd, a sharp look of triumph on the mama’s face visible across the room. 

“Miss Paige Tico and Miss Rose Tico, escorted by the right honorable, the Baron Hays.”

The two girls--Ben didn’t know if they were twins or if one had delayed coming out--repeated the ritual, though they did not receive a token from the queen. 

More girls escorted by brothers, mothers, aunts...the names began to blur together and even Leia seemed to droop a little as the afternoon stretched before them, her fan fluttering endlessly in the corner of his vision. Just when Ben was about to suggest that he send a footman to ready the carriage, a name caught his attention. 

“Miss Aurelia Nema, presented by the right honorable Sir. Benjamin Kenobi.”

Ben turned to his mother, “I didn’t know godfather was going to be in town.”

Leia waved a hand in his direction. “I told you last week.”

Ben opened his mouth to argue that she almost certainly hadn’t told him, but Leia snapped her fan shut and swatted his arm with it. 

“Focus.” Ben sighed, but did so.

His gaze slid from his godfather’s familiar, bearded face to the girl on his arm. A girl Ben never heard of before, despite what he had thought was a close relationship to Kenobi. His godfather had never once mentioned a ward or a poor relation he was going to sponsor. 

Still, he couldn’t quite manage to look away from her. This Aurelia was slender--perhaps unfashionably so--and her waist seemed to disappear in the swell of her white silk skirts. Lustrous chestnut hair was pinned away from her face in a simple braided coil. The gown she wore was not as glittering or ostentatious as many of the other debutants’, but it suited her delicate features he supposed, and gave her a complexion a healthy glow that many of the other girls lacked. 

Aurelia and Kenobi stopped before the dais. Ben watched his godfather snap into a smart court bow to the queen and prince consort, before his gaze was inevitably drawn back to the lady. 

Aurelia sank low, sweeping her full skirts behind her and holding the pose, arm stretched back and head bent. 

“Golly, were we supposed to do that one?” A debutant whispered somewhere to his right. 

“ _French_ style...my word…”

“Does she think we’re at Versailles?”

The vast chamber was abuzz with whispers at the girl’s flawless _French_ curtsy. 

Queen Victoria stood and the crowd let out an audible gasp. Though the queen was no more than five years older than the debutant kneeling before her, she pressed a motherly kiss to the girl’s forehead and raised her from her bow. She motioned for her lady, and pinned a sprig of flowers to Miss Aurelia’s gown herself. 

Applause broke out--almost too exuberant for the normally stately event--as the queen retreated to her throne. Out of the corner of his eye, Ben saw Leia open her mouth.

“Not one single word, mother.” He bit out.

“Of course not, dear,” Leia said, hooking her arm through his. “Of course not.”

The official reception ended soon after and everyone rushed to their carriages so they might rush home to change for dinner or the theatre, or the opera or even the club. Luckily there was no society ball that evening, as far as Ben knew--which in his opinion was a blessing. Balls, like the rest of the upper crust, were best in small doses. 

Leia, of course, immediately began going over each and every debutant that had been presented. If she had a good family name, a pleasing figure, what was her dowry, did the women of her family tend to produce multitudes or were they rather barren and on and on and on. Ben’s head was beginning to throb. 

“Mother if you do not cease I will leave this carriage and walk home,” Ben threatened. 

Leia waved his words away with a look of exasperation--they had had this conversation many times before. “Oh Ben, really, there’s no need for dramatics.”

“I’m deadly serious,” he grouched. 

“Benjamin Solo Organo Amidalo Skywalker,” she launched into her lecture. “This is important. Choosing the right girl to wife is key to a well ordered life. This is about choosing a partner to safeguard Alderaan and bear your children, your _heir_ , and you ought to take this seriously.”

With a beleaguered sigh, Ben reached through the open window and pulled the carriage door open. 

“Benjamin what _are_ you doing--”

Ben kissed his mother’s forehead and jumped out of the carriage into the street. “Good Evening, mother. I shall see you at breakfast.”

“Benjamin!”

Ben ignored her. The driver and three footmen would be more than capable of seeing Leia home. Ben took off, weaving his way through the crush of horses and wheels. 

“Alderaan! Alderaan old fellow!”

Ben looked towards the voice. 

“Kenobi!” He greeted, making his way to the open barouche swimming along the throng. 

“Climb in, your grace,” his godfather ordered. 

Ben shook his head, eyeing the delicate looking vehicle. “I’d tip your little cart right over if I tried, Kenobi. I’m fine to jog along.”

“Suit yourself,” the older man replied before shifting slightly to reveal the girl at his side. 

“Allow me to introduce my ward, your grace,” Kenobi continued. “Miss Aurelia Nema of Creiff. Miss Nema, this is his grace the duke of Alderaan, Marquis of Nabeau, and my godson.”

She leaned towards him in a rustle of silk. Ben bent forward and managed to shove his big body part way into the carriage. The scent of orange blossoms filled his nose as a tiny gloved hand slipped into his suddenly clumsy paw. He bent his head and managed to press a quick kiss just above her little hand. 

“Charmed, Miss Aurelia. I look forward to making your acquaintance over the Season.” _There,_ he thought. _Leia would be pleased that he was making an effort._

Aurelia smiled at him shyly. “The pleasure is all mine, your grace.”

 _Dimples. She has dimples_. They popped when she smiled. 

_thunk_

Ben found himself sprawled in the street, blinking up at the bright blue sky. After barking an order at Aurelia to remain inside the carriage, Kenobi and his driver rushed to his side. Around them the whispers of _ton_ gossip buzzed in the streets like flies at horses. 

“Did you see the duke?”

“My goodness, is his grace okay?”

“A lamppost? His grace should be more careful.”

“Miss Nema? Who?"

Kenobi appeared above him and slid a hand under Ben’s shoulders, helping him to sit. 

“I’m fine,” Ben assured as he climbed to his feet. “I’m fine, Kenobi."

His godfather did not look convinced. “That was a knock to the head, Alderaan.” A pause, to see if Ben would be persuaded to see reason. When he wasn’t, Kenobi continued. “Where’s your carriage? You’re in no shape to walk home.”

“I’ll get a hansom cab,” he answered.

“Your Grace, allow me,” a voice called. 

Ben turned to see Viscountess Netal motioning to him with her handkerchief from a carriage a few feet away. Next to him, his godfather breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Capital! Lady Cynitha will see you sorted,” Kenobi declared, clapping him on the shoulder and propelling him towards the coach with it’s female occupants. 

With a glance back at his godfather, and the carriage holding Miss Nema behind him, Ben climbed into the viscountess’ vehicle. 

It was a gross miscalculation on his part.

By the time he got home, Ben had somehow agreed to dinner with the viscountess and her family next Thursday and to a chaperoned carriage ride with Miss Nital on Saturday. Bazine and her mother had kept up a steady stream of conversation and he learned that the young lady excelled at drawing, dancing, singing, piano forte, and the modern languages. He smiled politely and tried to make conversation, but his head was bloody killing him. 

Finally home, Ben eyed the carriage from his front parlour window as it drove off. Bazine Netal was exactly the kind of girl he should marry, he supposed. She was clever, handsome, and rich. 

Absently he rubbed the center of his chest as a pair of hazel eyes flashed through his mind. 

_The pleasure is all mine, your grace_.

Ben crossed the cavernous front hall to his study and rang for his butler. A moment later Pio appeared. The butler was _ancient_. He tottered around and fussed at the staff, was generally rude to his betters, and gossiped about the servants, but he’d come with Ben’s mother from Italy, so there was no getting rid of him. 

“Your Grace?”

“Send a footman for a doctor,” he instructed, rubbing at his temple. 

“Very good, sir. I thought to mention you were looking sallow and feverish. Good of you to think of it, sir,” Pio chirped. Ben wasn’t sure if the old codger was mocking him or not. 

“Has the dowager returned home yet?”

“Yes, sir. Her grace says she expects you at dinner so that you may discuss which acquaintances you wish to call upon this week.”

Ben pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, alright.”

* * *

Ben _hated_ calling on people, and he also rather hated having people call on him. It didn’t matter that it was in his parlour. Honestly that made it worse--strangers trampling through the house made his teeth stand on edge. But here he was, seated on the ridiculously low chaise with Bazine wedged next to him in her voluminous skirts. Viscountess Netal sat across from them next to Leia. 

The housekeeper set the heavy silver tea tray down on the table between, and Leia began to pour. Ben glanced at the girl next to him. She smiled, her eyelashes fluttering over exotic violet colored eyes. 

“Do you have something in your eye, Miss Netal?”

Her response was cut off by the sound of the door opening once again. 

Pio announced in his reedy voice, “Sir Benjamin Kenobi and Miss Aurelia Nema.”

Ben stood, deftly ignoring the fine porcelain teacup his mother was just about to hand him, and inclined his head towards their new guests. They bowed back. 

“Please Miss Nema, take my seat,” he said, motioning to the now vacant spot next to Bazine.

Miss Aurelia stammered out a thank you, and her way to the sofa. As she sat, she flicked her gaze up to him, a curious expression on her face. 

Up close and in the bright morning light, Ben could see that she had a smattering of freckles dusting her the tops of her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. He rubbed at his chest, making sure his cravat was in place. Freckles were considered unattractive by society standards, but he rather thought they looked cute against Aurelia’s golden skin. 

Once again the pleasant scent of orange blossoms clung to her. Ben inhaled, suddenly reminded of the citrus groves in Nabeau. 

“Is there something the matter, your grace?” Aurelia asked, her voice soft to not attract notice from the others. 

Ben frowned, not understanding the question. 

“Nothing’s wrong, Miss Aurelia." 

She looked away from his gaze as a pretty pink flush broke across her cheeks. “I think you must be teasing me, your grace. I fear I must have a smudge on my face or some other calamity.”

“No,” he said, unthinking. “Your face is perfect.”

She stared at him, eyes widening as she processed what he said. Ben flushed once he realized what he said. 

“Excuse me,” he murmured, retreating to the other side of the room. 

_Best to beat a hasty retreat_. 

Ben lowered himself into a much more reasonably sized armchair and extended his long legs out in front of him. Leia frowned at the posture, and Ben reluctantly straightened up. He turned to his godfather.

“I didn’t know you were coming to town this season,” he said, trying to keep his voice light. 

His godfather shrugged. “There’s always business to be done in town. Besides, Aurelia was old enough to come out, so here we are.”

Their conversation paused for a moment while the ladies in the room continued chattering. 

“Shall we go to your office?” Kenobi suggested. 

Ben nodded his ascent and both men stood. 

“Excuse us, ladies,” old Ben said with a smile. “His grace and I have some business to attend to.”

Ben turned and strode out the door before Leia could object. When he reached his office across the hall, he went to the sideboard and poured them both a drink. Kenobi took the glass tumbler and walked towards the fireplace. 

“Surprisingly nippy for spring,” his godfather mused. “Though I’m sure we’ll be complaining about the heat once it starts hotting up." 

Ben took a swallow of whiskey. 

“How’s your head, by the by,” Kenobi asked, half turning to look at him. 

Ben moved closer, sitting on the edge of his blessedly sturdy desk. 

“It’s fine,” he said, combing his fingers through the dark hair at his temple, hoping the bruise was covered. 

A carriage went by outside, horse hooves echoing on the cobblestones, melting with the crackle of the fire in the hearth. 

“Is Miss Nema enjoying the season so far?” Ben asked. 

Kenobi smiled. “I do believe so. Not many young ladies can boast the distinction of dropping a duke with a smile.”

Reflexively Ben scowled--he was uncomfortable with the idea of any young lady boasting of “dropping” him. 

“Not that she’s the sort of lady who would boast,” Kenobi amended. 

“I had no idea you had a ward. Why have I never met her?" Ben asked, unable to keep the question from bubbling past his lips.

Kenobi shrugged, and Ben got the distinct impression he didn't want to discuss the matter. “She was educated in Switzerland from a young age.”

Ben contemplated the amber liquid in his glass; it appeared that there was a whole swath of his godfather’s life that he hadn’t known about. Crossing his arms over his chest, he scrutinized the older man before him. What other secrets might he be holding close abreast? 

* * *

Aurelia--or Rey as she liked to be called--glanced at the parlour door before turning back to the delicate porcelain cup in her hand. Her ears strained for the sound of men’s boots on the marble floor. It wasn’t that she wanted to leave, exactly, it was just that she felt unease without her uncle nearby. She could hardly believe that she was here, after all, and she half expected it all to melt away like meadow mist at sunrise. 

Rey took a sip of tea and nodded along with the conversation between the elegant _ton_ ladies around her. Their rapid-fire speech was peppered with references to people and places Rey hardly recognized, let alone could keep track of. 

Oh, she hoped her uncle would return soon. And _just_ her uncle, of course. She certainly wasn’t hoping for the black eyed duke to return to the parlour so she could ascertain if his hair was truly _that_ soft looking. Absolutely not. 

_Your face is perfect_. 

“Did you visit Madame Archambeau or Madame Lapin for your wardrobe,” Miss Bazine Netal asked. 

He _was_ handsome though, Rey allowed to herself. Even if he was a little strange.

“Miss Nema?” Bazine prompted. 

Rey gave herself a mental shake and scrambled to remember what the question was. She was keenly aware that all three ladies were looking to her for an answer.

 _Something about a wardrobe? Oh! Paris!_

“Oh, um, neither. I didn’t go to Paris for my wardrobe. Sir Kenobi paid for a _modiste_.”

“Paid for a _modiste_? My word,” the Viscountess Netal exclaimed, setting her tea cup down perhaps too abruptly on the saucer. The dowager duchess winced. 

“Do you mean he sent for the local dress marker?” Bazine asked, brows drawn over violet eyes. 

Rey looked down at her light blue and white checkered dress. Perhaps it was a bit plain--it had none of the delicate embroidery or lace frills that Miss Bazine’s gown sported. Besides the pearl buttons at the sleeves and down the front, there was no decoration. 

The silk taffeta skirts rustled like autumn leaves as she walked, though. And that made Rey happy. 

“Yes, my lady. A Mrs. Claire Beacham, was the lady’s name. I believe she trained in Paris,” Rey answered, hoping the credentials, at least, sounded prestigious. 

“And what of your governess?” the dowager duchess asked, a glimmer of laughter reflected in her dark eyes. “Miss Netal, I believe was educated by Mrs. Wollstonecraft Shelley, is that not right?”

“Yes, your gra--” Bazine began, before her mother interjected. “Yes, Bazine has had the best education a girl could hope for. She’s quite accomplished, I dare say.”

At the governess’ name, Rey turned at the girl seated next to her. 

“You know Mrs. Wollstonecraft Shelley? Oh I do love _Perkin Warbeck_ ,” Rey said with a tentative smile. 

“ _Perkin Warbeck_ was lovely, but I shall always be parietal to _Modern Prometheus_.” Bazine said as she returned Rey’s smile and clasped their hands together, “You simply must come to tea on Saturday. I’ll invite Mary--I mean, Mrs. Shelley--and--”

“And of course, you must come as well, your grace,” the Viscountess said to Leia. “It will be a veritable _salon_.”

The duchess nodded her ascent. “A lovely idea, Cynthia.”

“I’d love to attend,” Rey said to Bazine, a feeling of warmth spreading through her. 

Bazine began to say something else, but the Viscountess rose from her seat, prompting the younger ladies to rise as well. 

“Look at the time! I do believe we’ve overstayed. Thank you, your grace, for such delightful company,” she bowed to the still seated duchess. 

Bazine gave Rey an appolgetic look over her shoulder as a footman showed the departing guests the door, and Rey was left alone with the dowager Duchess of Alderaan. 

Rey took a slow sip of her tea and tried not to meet the duchess’ eye. The grandfather clock chimed in the hall. 

“Well Miss Aurelia, aren’t you the surprise of the season,” the duchess said, fixing her with a sharp eye. “Now, tell me of your education. Come now, be thorough. Which languages do you speak? Have you any Latin?”

 _Help me, Uncle Kenobi_ , Rey silently begged. The duchess was going to eat her alive. When it became apparent that her uncle was not, in fact, going to fortuitously return to the parlour, she smiled, trying desperately to remember how to speak. 

“I do have some Latin, your grace. As well as French, Italian and German.”

The duchess regarded her with something resembling surprise. Rey was sure another round of questions was forthcothing, when the door swung open. 

“My apologies, your grace, but I believe it’s time for Miss Nema and me to depart,” Kenobi said from the hallway. 

Rey scrambled up and carefully set her teacup onto the table. Bobbing a curtsey and a thank you, she followed her uncle out. 

Rey exhaled a sigh of relief as they stepped outside, and turned her face to catch the warm afternoon sun while it was free from clouds. The sound of hooves rang out across the courtyard. She turned expecting to see their carriage, but instead saw the Duke leading a massive black horse from the side yard. 

The slight breeze blew his dark hair back from his forehead as he strode towards them and the afternoon sun reflected off his shiny black boots. 

“Kenobi, I forgot to ask if you’ll be at the club later this week. We should have dinner,” he said by way of greeting, with a quick nod and ‘Miss Nema’ in her direction. 

She bobbed a courtesy, “your grace.”

She listened as he and her uncle made plans. Rey wondered what it must be like to be so free--to go to a club or be in public without a chaperone. It would be nice to have a ladies club, she mused, where they could dance and play cards and perhaps even drink without the scrutiny of men. 

Their carriage arrived a moment later, and Kenobi climbed into the vehicle first to keep it steady for Rey’s ascent. She stepped up, and a warm hand enveloped hers. Rey looked down, surprise coursing through at the feeling of skin against her own. The duke of Alderaan had not yet donned gloves, and her fingerless lace ones were hardly a barrier. Her fingers looked so small clutched in his--

She sat, and he let go of her hand. Alderaan snapped a bow in her direction and turned, mounting his horse before riding off. 

Rey fought the flush that threatened to spill across her face. He made her feel so peculiar, like her skin was too tight suddenly. But perhaps it was simply because she so rarely felt another person’s skin against her own. 

Her uncle smiled as their carriage lurched forward. “I hear you have an invitation for tea on Saturday.”

Rey nodded, ducking her head under his twinkling grey eyes. “Yes, Miss Bazine invited me.”

He nodded and sat back with his hand crossed over his stomach, thoroughly pleased with himself. “See my dear, you’re making friends already.” 

Rey nodded, though she couldn’t shake the feeling that her _entree_ into society would not be as smooth as the past week might suggest. 


	2. Before the First Ball

The clink of glasses and the hum of low voices filled the well appointed, masculine club rooms. Cigar and cheroot smoke curled in the air, giving everything a hazy quality. Ben took a sip of scotch, the cigarillo balanced between his fingers glowing red at the tip. He watched his peers--the young men he’d gone to Eton and Oxford with and the elder statesmen who had shunned his father--and tried to feel as if he were a part of them.

At least the company was more palatable than his engagement this morning. True to his word, he’d arrived at the Netal residence for a ride in the park. Which would have been fine if he had been able to drive his own cabriolet, but the viscountess had insisted on taking their barouche, which meant instead of speaking with the young lady, he was forced to converse with her mama. 

“Alderaan, old cock! Don’t look so melancholic--Viscountess Netal hasn’t gotten her claws into you yet.”

Ben looked up with a scowl to see Armitage Hux, the much begrudged son of the Earl of Yavin. 

“I’m quite certain the viscountess doesn’t have claws,” Ben drawled.

“Are you?” Hux asked, seating himself in the chair next to Ben’s without invitation. “The woman and her brood have a decidedly feline look.”

“And you bray like an ass, yet…” Ben trailed off, motioning vaguely to Hux’s lack of equine features. 

“Prick,” Hux glowered. 

Ben grinned into his scotch. _Thin-skinned bastard_. 

“But really Alderaan, marriage? You’re only thirty. Most dukes don’t saddle themselves with domestic duties until forty at least.”

Ben shrugged. He couldn’t very well tell Hux his real reason for wanting a wife. Though surely he would understand the desire to be free of an overbearing parent. 

“Some of us actually understand the importance of continuing the family line,” he heard himself say, wincing as he heard his mother’s voice in the words. 

Hux snorted. “I suppose Miss Netal isn’t the worst choice. She's quite pretty in a continental sort of way--a fair step above that little country bumpkin Kenobi calls a ‘ward’--”

"luckily for you, Armitage," Ben said, finished with Hux’s tiresome company, "that neither will ever consent to marrying you."

With that, he stood and walked over to the billiards table in the room beyond. At one of the green felt tables he made his way to an old friend of school--one of the few he actually found agreeable. 

“Dameron,” Ben greeted with a curt nod. 

He’d spotted his acquaintance Captain Poe Dameron enter the room perhaps half an hour after he had. Currently, the dashing officer was engaged in teaching a club member Ben didn’t recognize how to play. Both men were out of military dress an in civilian clothes--the club didn't allow military dress except for formal events. 

“Alderaan,” Poe returned, before motioning to the other man at his side. “Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Finn Storm, a friend from the army. Finn, this is His Grace the Duke of Alderaan and Marques of Nabeau.”

Ben shook Finn’s hand, but not before shooting Poe a much put-upon look for the full title introduction. “Alderaan is more than sufficient. Welcome to the club.”

“Thank you, sir,” Finn said with a laugh. “I’m still on a probationary membership though, so the welcome might be short lived.”

“I’m sure we can sort that,” Ben said, catching the eye of the club’s manager who spent his evening prowling the edges of the room and gave him the sign of approval. 

Poe’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

Ben shrugged. “ _You_ can’t. Being a duke has some advantages.”

“I would think being a duke has a great many advantages,” Finn said. 

Ben regarded Finn and to his credit, the man didn’t amend his statement or erupt in obsequious apologies. Still, he waited a beat before clapping him on the shoulder. 

"Well said, Storm," Ben let out a bark of laughter. Heads turned at the sound and not a few whispers buzzed around them. 

They ended up waving over lieutenant Dopheld Mitaka to play a few rounds of two-on-two billiards. Over the crack of the cue against the balls, the conversation looped over Poe and Finn’s recent exploits abroad, then back into policy and politics, which Ben felt more at ease in. That, at least, he was qualified to speak on; he had taken up his seat in the House of Lords as soon as he was able to.

“We need to stay out of Afghanistan,” Ben said, lining up a shot for the corner pocket. “Hold the Khyber Pass but for God sake don’t menace the great bear by moving further north.”

 _Crack_. The shot was true, and the seven ball rolled into its netted pocket. Poe and Finn exchanged a look-- though Ben wasn’t sure if it was over his playing or his opinion. 

“But the Russos want India,” Poe insisted. “We can’t let them have it. The balance in Europe depends on keeping them in check.”

Ben missed his next shot when the cue inexplicably swerved around his intended target. Finn took up his turn. 

Ben waved his hand in front of him in a gesture of disagreement. “The Tsar doesn’t want India. He’s more concerned about keeping trade open through the Dardanelles.”

Finn lined up his shot and sunk it. “I see your point Alderaan. But it’s our duty to support the Ottomans against the Russians as well. They’re our allies after all.”

By the time that the clock in the great hall chimed three in the morning, the duke and his party had moved to a private dining room where spirits and conversation flowed freely. 

Ben checked the pocket watch that hung at his side to confirm the number of chimes he’d counted. “I should say my goodnights, gentlemen. I unfortunately have business in the morning.”

Poe stood, shaking Ben’s hand and clapping him on the shoulder. “I heard that you were escorting Miss Netal for her morning ride in St. James’ tomorrow.”

“Ah...no actually, that was this morning.”

Poe laughed at the pained expression on Ben’s face. “The viscountess chaperoned, did she? I’ve never met a woman who could hold a conversation for twelve different people simultaneously.” 

Ben chuckled in agreement and turned to Finn, to shake hands. 

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Storm. Do send your card over and I’ll have you and Poe over for dinner some evening.”

“A pleasure, your grace,” Finn responded, shaking Ben’s hand. 

Mitaka, who had imbibed more claret than he usually did, slung his arm around Finn’s shoulders. “You’ll be coming to the ball tonight, though? I hope I don’t have to wait for his grace to plan a dinner before we can gather again, chums.”

Poe and Ben groaned in unison, while Finn looked between the two of them. “What ball?"

“Countess Holdo throws a ball for Whitsun every year,” Poe explained. “You should certainly attend. If you don’t have an invitation you can come as my guest.”

It was agreed, then, that they would regroup later than evening at the Whitsun ball. As he walked out to hail a hansom cab to take him home--Ben knew he could reserve a room at the club, but he preferred to be in his own bed, in his own house--he considered how odd it was that he was planning on attending the ball that evening. Seasons past had seen him avoiding them--and the young ladies and their mamas who attended--like the plague. But he knew it would be a good opportunity to find a respectable young woman to marry so that Leia would be pleased enough to return to one of her many residences and leave him in peace. Perhaps he would ask Miss Netal for the first waltz. 

Ben climbed into the hansom and gave his address. As he thought more about it, though, he realized it wasn't Miss Netal who's face graced his thoughts, but that of Miss Nema. 

* * *

Rey huffed out a sigh and considered her reflection. Her hair wasn’t behaving, but it wasn’t her fault that fashionable hairstyles were unflattering. She had the front sides of her hair curled into fat bouncing curls while the rest of her tresses were pinned back in a large braided coil. But in her opinion the curls made her look like a cocker spaniel.

 _This is as good as it’s going to get_ , she thought. Hopefully the elegant Miss Netal wouldn’t mind.

As Rey climbed into her uncle’s carriage excitement fluttered in her stomach. She was very much looking forward to the afternoon tea, and the opportunity to perhaps get to know a few of the other girls who were debuting this season. It was so odd, coming from her boarding school in Switzerland, where she was surrounded by girls her age whom she had known since she was six. Now, she was completely adrift in a sea of English roses and society beauties. 

But that was not fair, she told herself. Bazine seemed genuinely kind, even if she only managed to speak half the time she wished to. 

The coach rattled to a stop in front of an elegant townhouse and a moment later the footman opened the door for her. Rey ducked down, taking the man’s hand and stepping onto the street. 

“Miss Nema, is that you?”

Rey turned, eyes widening when she realized the person who recognized her was the dowager duchess of Alderaan. The older woman was alighting from her own carriage, which had pulled in just after Rey’s had taken off. 

“Your Grace,” Rey bobbed a curtsy. 

The duchess waved one gloved hand. “None of that. You’re Kenobi’s ward--I’m certain our paths will continue to cross this season. You may call me ma’am from now on.”

Rey bobbed another courtesy. “Yes your grace. I mean, yes, ma’am.”

Leia offered her arm to Rey, and the two ladies made their way up the steps to the front door, which opened without their having to knock. Behind them another carriage clattered to a stop, and the Tico sisters appeared. Their group of four was shown to the drawing room, which was decorated in shades of goldenrod and mauve. Rey was glad that she’d worn a light blue dress of silk brocade--her other day dress was buttercup yellow and would have clashed horribly with the room. 

The ladies sat, grouped together in a circle around two tea tables. Introductions were made and cups of tea handed around. Rey was seated in a small armchair while the Tico sisters were on a chaise across from her. Their mother, the baroness, also accompanied them, but she sat next to the viscountess and the duchess instead of the young ladies. 

“I hear my son took a turn around St. James this morning with you and your daughter, viscountess,” the duchess said, giving a sly wink across the circle at Bazine, who was perched next to Rey.

“Oh yes,” the viscountess replied, waving her fan as if to punctuate her words. “His grace was _very_ obliging.”

The duchess smiled, though Rey was convinced she was a touch of laughter her grace's dark eyes. "I'm sure he was."

As the older ladies began talking amongst themselves, the conversation seemed to split between the two age groups. 

“Is it really true that you’re the daughter of a Russian prince?” The younger of the two Tico girls asked, casting a surreptitious glance to make sure her mother wasn’t listening. 

Unfortunately for Miss Tico, her elder sister was.

“Rose!” She chided, elbowing her sister's side. "That's entirely inappropriate."

Rey waited for whoever she’d asked to answer, but after an awkward pause, she ventured, “are you addressing me?”

“She didn’t mean any impertinence, Miss Nema,” the elder sister, Paige, said quickly. “She’s always reading the penny dreadfuls and gossip sheets--”

Rose glared at her sister, “but I heard Auntie Lydia say--”

“Auntie Lydia is a twit,” Paige retorted. 

“ _Ladies_!” Baroness Hays, the girls’ mother, called from the other end of the circle. “I hope that’s not the sound of the two of you squabbling I hear.”

“Of course not, Mama!” Rose called back. 

Whether or not the baroness was convinced, she returned to her conversation with the viscountess. Both Rose and her sister looked expectantly at Rey. 

“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” she said, “but I’ve never been to Russia, let alone been born to a Russian prince. Is that what people are saying about me?”

Rose flushed the color of her namesake. “No Miss Nema. Just our aunt Lydia and she doesn’t count for much.”

“I think people are more interested in your effect on the Duke of Alderaan,” Paige cut in. 

“Oh!,” Rey exclaimed. “No. That wasn’t...I mean, I’m not--”

Rey stared at the sisters, scrambling for a way to steer the conversation away from the present topic. Luckily for her, their hostess came to Rey’s aid. 

“I think what Miss Nema means to say,” Bazine supplied. “Is that his grace’s accident is much more to do with the dangers of city traffic than with our dear friend’s smile, lovely though it may be.”

The girls laughed at the remark, and Rey shot Bazine an appreciative look. Honestly, she was _never_ going to live down the embarrassment of being known as the girl that fell a duke with naught but an introduction. It made her sound like some sort of clever heroine in a novel. Honestly, it wasn’t even her fault--if her uncle hadn’t called his grace over…

Bazine offered some colorful macarons to the party, ending with Rey. As Rey reached for a pastry, Bazine caught her eye. 

“I fear I must apologize to you, Miss Aurelia. I promised you Mary Shelley, but unfortunately it seems that she’s gone away to tour Germany! She promised to visit when she returns home, though. I do hope you'll forgive me.”

Rey smiled. “It’s quite alright. I’m just grateful you thought to invite me.”

“We’re all very excited to meet you,” Bazine replied. 

The conversation lulled, and Rey glanced over to where the viscountess sat. She was watching her daughter with a look of distinct disapproval. A moment later, her eyes snapped to Rey’s and a crimson flush spread over the lady’s cheeks. Rey jerked her head away, fighting her own blush. Did the viscountess disapprove of her daughter being friends with Rey? Perhaps she was not well enough born for a viscount’s daughter. She had hoped her uncle’s sponsorship would win her approval.

 _No matter_ , she thought to herself.

“Lady Cynthia,” Leia said rather loudly, having the effect of gaining her the attention of the entire circle, “I heard your African orchids are to be congratulated this year at the annual garden show. Will you show me?”

Viscountess Netal, though she very clearly wanted to stay and supervise the young ladies present, also very clearly did not want to give an opportunity to cultivate her relationship with the dowager duchess. 

“What a splendid idea, your grace. I shall accompany you,” Baroness Hays said, standing before giving her daughters a stern gaze. “I’m sure the ladies will behave.”

The room seemed to descend into silence as the older ladies swept down the hall in a rustle of silk skirts. They waited a long moment, until the sound of heels on the marble floors faded in the distance.

“Thank goodness. I thought Mama would never leave.” Bazine took a delicate sip of her tea before setting her cup down. “Now ladies, let us induct Miss Nema into our ranks.”

Rose let out a whoop of excitement as Rey was snatched up by a whirlwind of silk and lace and carried across the mansion to what was apparently Bazine’s bedroom: the room was large with high ceilings and big bright windows, decorated in soft plums and mauves. It was a far cry more calm than the drawing room, though the color scheme was familiar. 

Bazine bunched her skirts in her fists and took off towards her bed, vaulting onto the feather mattress in an explosion of silk and pillows. A second later, and in an equally athletic manner, Rose joined her, followed by Paige. They lounged together in a pile of petticoats. 

“Well come on, silly,” Rose called, beating the coverlet next to her with enthusiasm. “Join us!”

With a laugh, Rey kicked off her shoes and took a running leap. They arranged themselves more or less in a circle, limbs casually strewn across each other’s bodies. Somehow a box of caramel chocolates ended up in the middle. 

“Aurelia, dear,” Paige said after her first bite of candy, “I’m so pleased you’re coming out with us this season--”

“Don’t listen to her Aurelia,” Rose chimed in. “She’s just impressed you got an introduction to Alderaan so quickly and wants to know your wicked, witchy ways.”

“How rude, Rose! Of course I’m genuinely interested in knowing Miss Nema--” Paige exclaimed over her sister’s teasing. Rey smiled at Paige and shook her head in Rose’s direction.

“Rose!” Bazine exclaimed before whacking her friend with a pillow. “Stop teasing our new friend about Alderaan!”

“Oi!” Rose grunted, grabbing ahold of Bazine’s pillow. “Fine I’ll tease you about Alderaan. Apparently he was _very obliging_ in the carriage this morning. I’m shocked your mama isn't announcing an engagement at tonight’s ball!”

Bazine glowered. “What do you think she’s doing with Princess Leia right now? Probably negotiating my dowry.”

“Really?” Paige’s head snapped up in surprise. 

It was Paige’s turn to get whacked by Bazine’s pillow. “No, silly. Of course not. The carriage ride was _fine_ , certainly, but it was only a carriage ride.” 

“I’m confused,” Rey cut in. “Did you say _princess_? I thought she was a duchess? Golly. I’ve made a fool of myself--”

“You’re perfectly fine, Miss Aurelia,” Paige said, squeezing Rey’s wrist. “She’s normally known as the dowager duchess of Alderaan, but only since the current duke allows her to use it as a courtesy title. He--Alderaan I mean--inherited the dukedom from his uncle--his mother’s brother that is--who was unmarried. So there technically hasn’t been a duchess of Alderaan since the current duke’s grandfather. And _he_ was married to a princess from Nabeau--one of those small Italian states, you know? So as a nod to their mother, his children bore the style of _serene highness_ , and the auxiliary title of Marquess of Nabeau was added to the family’s styles.”

By the time Miss Paige paused for a breath, Rey realized her mouth was hanging open, and the chocolate she’d been eating hovered halfway between her face and the box. 

“You’re like a walking encyclopedia!” Was all she could think to say. 

Rose rolled her eyes, but gave her sister an affectionate shove. “It’s only because there’s nothing to read in our house besides _Debrett’s_ and _Burke’s_.” 

“That and your penny dreadfuls,” Bazine quipped. 

“Truly it is our Mama who’s the encyclopedia,” Paige retorted. “You can give the woman any gentleman’s name and she can tell you his parentage, where he went to school, his annual income, any inheritance he stands to gain, and in which way he may come by a title, if he is not in fact in possession of one already.”

Rey laughed. “My goodness! I can’t imagine!”

“We shall test her at tonight’s ball,” Bazine said with a conspiratorial twinkle in her dark eyes. 

That set off another round of laughter and cheering. Rose caught Rey’s eye. “You are going to the ball, right?”

She reached across the circle and squeezed Rose’s hand. “You can count on it.”

Indeed, she was quite looking forward to her first society ball this evening. She would be allowed to dance, perhaps even to waltz! She had been taught how to dance at her school, but the nuns obviously didn't let their charges dance with _men_. Rey grinned, imagining herself spinning across a gleaming dancefloor, caged in the arms of a gentleman. Alderaan's face materialized in her mind's eye. 

_Perhaps_...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the positive responses to the first chapter! Ben and Rey will appear in the same room together in the next chapter.


End file.
